


In the Dark of the Moon

by Merlin Missy (mtgat)



Category: The Stand - Stephen King
Genre: Creepypasta, Dark Magic, Dark fic, Other, Transformation, Yuletide Treat, unspecified gender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-24 22:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17109599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtgat/pseuds/Merlin%20Missy
Summary: To meet Randall Flagg, the Walkin' Dude, first you must walk. Purchase a pair of secondhand boots with the heels broken in; you cannot steal them, borrow them, or use your own old boots. Put a silver dollar into your left pocket, but only a coin that has never been inside a church's offering plate.Walk in the secondhand boots down a lonely highway at night. You should walk first under a full moon when it is safe so that your boots learn the shape of the road. Walk the moonlit road for ten miles. If you hear whistling behind you, do not under any circumstances turn around or stop walking.





	In the Dark of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wayfarers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayfarers/gifts).



> When you mentioned the idea of Flagg being a cryptid or urban legend, I could not escape the idea of him becoming a creepypasta-like ritual. The creepypasta format is effectively a second person POV story. If this fic is not your cup of tea for that or any other reason, don't hesitate to use the Refuse button. (But do so at local noon, and only when the sun is out.)

To meet Randall Flagg, the Walkin' Dude, first you must walk. Purchase a pair of secondhand boots with the heels broken in; you cannot steal them, borrow them, or use your own old boots. Put a silver dollar into your left pocket, but only a coin that has never been inside a church's offering plate.

Walk in the secondhand boots down a lonely highway at night. You should walk first under a full moon when it is safe so that your boots learn the shape of the road. Walk the moonlit road for ten miles. If you hear whistling behind you, do not under any circumstances turn around or stop walking. On the night of the dark of that same moon, walk the same ten miles. You WILL hear whistling behind you. Stop.

If you hear bootheels walking over gravel, stand still. If you hear silence, return to your walk until the whistling returns. This might take miles. This might take a pocketful of moons. Randall Flagg will follow you when he's ready. He knows you're looking for him. If his bootheels don't follow you for three dark moons, leave a silver dollar in the road at the end of the third walk, face down on the dirt. Come back the next noon and only in broad sunlight. If the silver dollar is in the same place face up, Flagg will come for you that night.

On the night in the dark, you will hear whistling and you will stop, and the bootheels will keep walking behind you. Don't look. When they are close, say out loud, "The de'il hisself!"

When Flagg laughs and says, "The Devil himself," you may turn around and face him. Take note of the flame in his eyes, and the run down state of his clothes. Look at the buttons on his jacket. Notice he may be floating over the asphalt, those boots you've been listening to not touching the ground, but do not stare.

He'll ask you what you want. His lips will be curved upwards as at some private joke.

You can tell him your heart's desire but he won't grant your wish. He will walk towards you and reach out with his hands and strangle you. The last thing you'll see is his smirk and the last thing you'll smell is the animal stench of his sweat. Do not tell him your wishes now unless you want to die this way.

Tell Randall Flagg you want to fuck him.

"Little old me?" he'll ask, and his voice will rise to a southern belle's falsetto of charm.

Drop to your knees right there on the road. No cars will come, not now, not with Flagg. He'll unzip his busted fly and pull out what will look like a normal human dick, a little big, a little too red as it swells with blood. Lick the uncut tip and take it into your mouth.

Do not let your teeth scrape him. Do not stop sucking even when he shoves it deep into the back of your throat, choking you. Do not mind the pain from your knees on the blacktop. Close your eyes and repeat this rhyme in your mind four times: _better done, take the gun, bloody sun, devil run_.

His come will taste like sulphur. You must swallow it all. If any dribbles down your face, wipe it with your hand and lick your hand clean. None can hit the ground or the world will end.

Flagg will yank on your hair unless you are bald, in which case he will yank you by your ears. He'll praise you now, not much. "That was good," he'll say, or "Not bad," or even, "Better than the last whore I paid for." Do not thank him. Bow your head.

"Tell me what you want," Flagg will ask. The same pattern will repeat. If you tell him your heart's desire, he will strangle you.

Tell Randall Flagg again that you want to fuck him.

"How about I fuck you instead?"

You must say yes. **_You must say yes._**

If you want to live, keep on your boots. Unzip your jeans but only pull them part way down. This is important. Flagg will reach for you now, fondling you intimately. His hand will be hotter than you expect. No, hotter than that. You had his cock in your mouth but his hand burns you, touching you, stroking you. He will shove one hot, dry finger inside you and you must bite down on your scream.

You cannot scream as he changes before you. If you scream, much worse will happen than your death.

Flagg appears differently to each person. He may be a savage raw red skinless beast, pulsing with inhuman blood. He may be a tentacled nightmare, shooting pods from his core. He may appear as a chitinous beetle, or a long-limbed shambler with great gray eyes, or a buzzing cloud of stinging flies shaped like a human. You cannot scream, or the creature he becomes will devour you over the course of slow months.

The worst form of course is of the man Flagg himself, because he does not know what he is. You came here seeking the truth: where did his powers come from, and why is he here now? He's not going to tell you. He doesn't know. He's a wizard of dark magics and son of the greatest wizard. He's a hell-creature pupped from Satan's own cunt. He's a human born in the faraway land of Delain to a miller and his wife. All of this is true. He forgets from life to life, and relearns his magics, and he serves the Crimson King. You must know this. He will not tell you.

The man Flagg or the creature he transforms into will push you onto your knees on the hard-packed ground beside the road. The moon's face is far away, unwilling to watch. Distant, mad stars will glower down as he shoves his cock inside you dry. Flagg will be cold, colder than space, and awful. You had him in your mouth and you swallowed his brimstone seed, and now his cock will tear your flesh like a too-large icicle pounding into you.

You must scream now. You will die if you do not scream.

Stars will wheel by. Creatures you cannot imagine will pad close by, tongues lolling as they watch. Flagg will drive into you, deeper with each stroke, and he will fuck you for one full hour as your knees ache and your belly turns to ice.

You will not come. You will never come again in your life.

He will finish inside you, howling to the darkness. The cold semen will wriggle up inside your body, filling you until you are as chilly as a corpse yourself. Then he will fuck you again. Three times will seal the bargain you came to make. You will not be able to stop him. You will not be able to fight or crawl away, not if he takes you as a man, or with his many pseudopods pulsing into you, or if he manifests as a solid mass of stinging flies sinking into your body. You may stop screaming after the first mating but it is doubtful you can.

By the end of the third hard fuck, you will be filled with Randall Flagg's come. Mingling with your blood has rendered it safe. If it spills on the ground, no plant will grow there nor will any animal walking over the dirt survive for more than one week, but the world will not end.

"Good," he will say when he finishes with you. You must say nothing until he has transformed back into his human body. As you wait, you will sense yourself changing. You came here in darkness willingly. You gave yourself over to Flagg. He has marked you as his own. Even as you tug up your jeans, the come that is not dripping down your legs will be absorbing into your body, its dark proteins and magic-twisted helices invading your cells.

Tell Randall Flagg your heart's desire now.

"You ask this of me?" he will say.

You may respond with "Yes" or "Aye." Do not respond with "Of course."

"And you'll make the bargain?"

This is your last opportunity. You came this far of your own accord. You have the demon's seed inside you. If you walk away tonight without another word, you will walk away broken, too cold to take another lover ever again, too fouled by your own choices to work an honest job. If you say nothing and leave, you will spend the rest of your life as a thief and a murderer, always tasting sulphur on your tongue no matter how much whiskey you drink to wash it away, but you will live free.

If you say, "I will," Randall Flagg will work his magic for you. It's a bitter magic, learned and forgotten and relearned. He will make your nemesis choke to death on their next meal, or give your ex-lover a painful disease that eats away their groin, or strike your old employer down with a heart attack. He will do this for you.

"It is done."

You must say, "Thank you."

Your boots will start to itch. You will need to walk, and oh, you will walk. You will walk at night under a full moon that wants no part of you, and you will follow other travelers on the roads you wander. You'll whistle for them, and if they turn to see you instead of waiting for Flagg, you will devour them raw. The silver they place on the road will burn your paw. Do not touch it, only report to him they are waiting. Flagg must come for them. When he wants you, he will whistle, and you will whine and come to your master.


End file.
